Why?
by windthroughtheleaves
Summary: In her apple pie of a life, Lela is a slice of pear. She goes to school every day and has a few friends - on the outside, she looks like any other kid. But after she's taken out of school by a man called Grover, she discovers that there might be something more going on: a secret society called Camp Half-Blood, gods, and monsters that won't hesitate to eat her.


"Lela?" my dad called up the stairs. "It's time for school."

"Yeah, I'll be right down." I called back, rolling out of bed. I stumbled over to the dresser and pulled a shirt from the second drawer, putting it on and then pulling on my jeans and striped socks. As I jogged down the stairs, I pulled my light brown hair into a ponytail like I did every morning.

"Morning," I told Dad. He'd set the table, a bowl in front of two of the chairs, and he'd put a pot of oatmeal in the center. Apple cinnamon. Like every morning.

We ate silently because we had nothing to talk about. Like every morning.

At seven-thirty we headed out to my dad's car. I sat in the passenger seat even though I'm not heavy enough to trigger the airbag because I'm tall and Dad's car is short, and he played the same CD as he did every morning. The first song, the second song, and the third song, up until the chorus. Just like every morning.

I waved goodbye to him and he drove to work while I walked up the sidewalk until I got to school. I set my backpack in front of room 602 and walked over to my friend Gabrielle.

"Hi, Lela," Gabby said, opening and closing her hand in a gesture she uses instead of waving, just like every morning.

"Hey," I told her, like any other morning.

When the bell rang, I headed into my classroom, and found my desk - behind Tyson's and in front of Joshua's. Just like every day.

It was Wednesday, so I had English first. I slid my backpack back next to Joshua's desk, which was mine in first period English, and sat down again after brushing the eraser shavings off of the chair. Ms Cheshire stood up in front of the class and went over the class's schedule and the homework, both of which were written on the board, before moving to the podium she had in the corner and calling roll off of the list she had on her laptop. Just like any other Wednesday.

After English was recess. During recess, the staff patrols the school grounds for a reason that has never been shared with me, but today, Mr Hardings came up to me and said "Lela Harvey? You're going home for the day. Your uncle Grover is in the office."

Not normal.

I didn't even have an uncle Grover.

"I'll come with you," said Milo, the only boy in my group of friends. He was strange, walking with a limp like he had no feet, and when he approached me on the first week of school, I wondered briefly if that was how people felt when they were approached by a stalker.

As soon as we were out of Mr Hardings's auditory range, Milo began speaking again.

"Go with Grover, Lela. It's for your safety, and your dad will be informed as soon as we're safe. But for now, we just need you to get out of here," he whispered rapidly into my ear. I nodded - I trusted Milo with my life. And there was a frighteningly real possibility that 'Grover' was not as nice as Milo was saying he was.

'Grover' was a man of below average height - not all that much taller than Milo or I - who wore a rather floppy, red, yellow, and green hat over his curly brown hair. He had a sort-of beard that was not so accidental as my fathers, but he was probably no older than twenty five or so. If he had not had the beard, I would have said younger, as he had held on to that goofiness that you could see in many of the boys at my school.

When he moved, he had the same limp as Milo. I wondered if they were related. Even if it wasn't true, I told myself that it was over and over to try to reassure myself that I was safe.

"Hey, Lela." he said. He had an accent that I'd heard when my dad and I had gone to New York for two days during the summer when I was nine.

I remembered it clearly - my dad had spent a good three hours speaking to a woman with blonde curly hair and grey eyes that were similar to my own, which I had called "blue" to avoid confusion all my life, and a man with black hair and green eyes. I had wondered if they were relatives because my father had met with only them during the entire trip and slept the rest of the time, and he had no friends in New York as far as I was aware.

Except the few minutes when a man with curly brown hair and a floppy, red, yellow, and green cap had stood in the doorway.

My dad did know Grover.

A sudden feeling of relief washed over me, and I didn't hesitate longer than just an instant when I followed Grover into a white van. I should have been more worried - Milo was no longer accompanying us and I didn't know Grover personally - but Grover didn't seem to be very dangerous.

We didn't talk as he drove west, then south, until we stopped in Toledo for lunch.

As we sat in a small diner with colorful decorations around the windows, we spoke briefly about where we were going.

"New York," Grover told me. "Long Island."

He said it with indifference, like he was saying that he was going to the grocery store for milk, instead of a state 800 miles away. However, he somehow managed to also avoid directly answering my actual question: Where are we going?

Long Island is approximately 1,400 square miles. There are likely more than three thousand buildings there, and while I now knew what state we would be in, I had no idea where in Long Island we would be.

We stayed in Pittsburgh overnight, at a motel just off the highway. Grover paid for a single room, offering me the actual bed, but I declined and took the couch because I had always found it more exciting to sleep in the living room instead of in my own bedroom. Besides, my dad had always tried to teach me to respect my elders, and I decided that, if anything, I wanted to stay on Grover's good side, since I didn't know anything about him.

The next day, Grover drove for seven hours, starting at 6:30 and ending at 2:15.

We were in the middle of nowhere, essentially. Ahead of me there were trees, behind me there were trees, and to my right, there were trees. To my left was a large pine tree, with what vaguely looked like a pile of cables laid around the base of the tree. A shimmering golden item, about the size and shape of a welcome mat, hung from one of the lowest branches.

Grover stepped over an empty space, like there was a boundary that he was cautious about, and gestured for me to follow, watching me like it was a test.

I stepped forward, still watching Grover's expression. It changed to one of relief, and just as quickly turned to one of shock and happiness - all in all reminding me of a child.

"Percy! You're back!"


End file.
